“How is Bryluen?” I asked, and I looked to the incubator where our smallest baby lay. There were too many doctors, too many nurses huddled around her. I had concentrated on the two babies I had; I’d known that there was a third baby only an hour before it all started, but somehow seeing her, so tiny, with her curly red hair, body almost as red as her hair, as my hair, I wanted to hold her, needed to touch her.
Dr. Lee came with her black hair peeking out of her scrubs, but her face was too serious. “She’s five pounds; that’s a good weight, but she seems weeks younger than the other two developmentally.”
“What does that mean?” Doyle asked.
“She’s going need to stay on oxygen for a few days and be fed fluids. She won’t be able to go home with the others.”
“Can I hold her?” I asked, but I was scared now.
“You can, but don’t be alarmed by the tubes and things, okay?” Dr. Lee smiled, and it was totally unconvincing. She was worried. I didn’t like that one of the best baby docs in the country was worried.
They wheeled her over, and five pounds might be a good weight, but comparing it to the six and seven that Alastair and Gwenwyfar had made her look tiny. Her arms were like little sticks too delicate to be real. The tubes did look alarming, and the IV in her little leg didn’t look like birth, it looked more like death. The aura that blazed around the other two babies was dim in this tiny spark of a baby.
Frost stood on the other side of the tiny incubator with tears shining unshed in his gray eyes. We’d had no third name, so he’d wanted Rose, after a long-lost love and a long-lost daughter. Bryluen was Cornish for “rose.” It had seemed perfect for our tiny red-haired daughter, but now I watched the fate of those earlier lost roses in Frost’s face and it tightened my chest, and made me afraid.
Doyle took my hand in his, and asked, “Dr. Lee, is it just her size that makes you believe she’s developmentally behind the other two?”
“No, it’s her test scores. She’s just not as engaged as the other babies are, very much as if she’s simply a few weeks behind them. We’ll use the technology to make up for what she didn’t get inside you.”
“And she’ll be all right then?” I asked.
Dr. Lee’s face fought between cheerfully blank and something less pleasant. “You know how this works, Princess; I can’t say that with absolute certainty.”
“Doctors never guarantee things, do they?” I asked.
“Modern doctors do not,” Doyle said.
“But then modern doctors aren’t likely to be executed for saying they can cure the princess and then failing,” Rhys said. He came with a smile to help cheer the gloomy bunch of us. Galen was normally cheerful, but not about our little Rose; Frost was usually the gloomiest man in my life, and Doyle was a serious person. I’d just given birth to triplets. I was allowed to be worried.
Dr. Lee looked at him as if she didn’t find his joke funny at all. “Excuse me?”
He grinned at her. “Trying to lighten my partners’ moods; they are determined to think the worst.”
“Look at her,” Galen said, motioning at the tiny, tiny infant.
“Remember what my specialty is,” Rhys said. “She doesn’t shine as bright as the others, but neither does she have a shade around her. She is not dying. I would see it.”
Doyle’s hand tightened on mine, and he said, “Swear it, by the Darkness That Eats All Things.”
Rhys looked very serious then. “Let me swear it on the love I bear Merry, our children, and the men in this room, the men and women who are waiting for news at the home we have all built. Let me swear on the first true happiness I have known in lo these long, dark centuries, our little Rose will not die here like this; she will grow strong and crawl fast enough to frustrate her brother.”
“You see this in the future truly?” Frost asked.
“Yes,” Rhys said.
“I don’t understand anything you’re talking about, but did you threaten our lives if the baby doesn’t live?” Dr. Lee asked.
“No,” Rhys said. “I just wanted to remind my family here that modern medicine can do wonders that even magic could not do once, and to have faith. The bad old days are past; let us enjoy the new good days.”
Doyle and I both held our hands out to Rhys, and he came to take them both. He laid a kiss on mine, then did the same to Doyle. “My queen, my liege, my lover, my friend, let us rejoice and chase despair away from this day, as we chased it from each other this year past.”
Galen went around and hugged Rhys from the back, which turned Rhys laughing to hug him back. It made us all laugh a little, and then the nurses were putting the tiniest of babies in my arms. She was so light, birdlike, and dreamlike. It reminded me of holding one of the demi-fey, those of faerie that look like butterflies and moths, but who feel more like the hollow bones of birds when they land and walk upon you.
Bryluen had tubes coming out of her nose trailing to her oxygen, and an IV in her tiny leg, like the one in my arm. Even with Rhys’s reassurance, she looked injured. She was loosely wrapped in one of the thin blankets, and everywhere her skin touched mine she burned as if with fever.
Bryluen started to cry, a high-pitched, thin, and piteous sound that only the very youngest infants make. I knew something was wrong just by her cry. I couldn’t explain it, but something the doctors were doing wasn’t the right thing for this one.
“Doyle, help me unwrap this blanket. She doesn’t like it.”
He didn’t question it, just helped me unwrap Bryluen, and it was as we lifted her gently that my hand crossed her bare back and found something unexpected. I raised her against my shoulder, one hand firm to support her head, and the other her lower body, so that I could see what my hands had felt.
Scales graced almost the entire back of her body, trailing down into the tiny diaper. They weren’t the rainbow scales of a snake like Kitto had on his back, but more like the wide, delicate scales on a butterfly or moth wing, except these were impossibly large, bigger than any natural butterfly on the planet.
Doyle traced one big, dark finger down the brilliant pink-and-seashell shine of the scales that trailed like a cape from her thin shoulders to sweep down her miniature waist and be lost underneath the diaper.
“They’re wings,” he whispered.
Frost was on the other side of the bed, leaning over to draw his own large hand gently down Bryluen’s back. “Wings more real than Nicca’s. They are raised above her skin, not like a tattoo.”
Galen leaned in to touch the miracle of shining proto-wings. “They don’t look like any insect I’ve ever seen,” he whispered.
Mistral came close with Gwenwyfar held in his arms as if she’d always been there. Frost moved up beside them, touching a hand to Gwenwyfar’s white curls and gazing down at Bryluen. “I have not seen dragon wings on our demi-fey since I was not the Killing Frost, but only little Jackul Frosti.”
Sholto came closer and said, “They look almost like the wings of a baby nightflyer, but light and jewel-bright instead of dark and leathery.”
It was when I brushed her tight red curls near her forehead and found the buds of antennae that I understood. “Get the plastic out of her, now!” I held her out to the doctor.
“Without extra oxygen and feeding tubes she will not survive.”
“Do you see the wings and the antenna buds? She’s part demi-fey, part sluagh, a part of faerie that doesn’t do well around metal and man-made things. If you keep putting artificial things into her, she will die.”
“You mean she’s allergic to man-made plastics?”
“Yes,” I said, not wanting to waste time to explain the unexplainable.
Dr. Lee didn’t argue but took Bryluen, and she and the nurses began to strip out everything they’d put in. The baby cried piteously as soon as they took her from me, and it made my heart ache to hear it. The other two babies started to cry as if in sympathy.
Rhys picked Alastair up from the nurse and seemed to know just how to hold him so that the baby just watched everything with dark solemn eyes, as if he understood more than he could say yet. Gwenwyfar just tried to yell loudest no matter what Mistral did.
“You never mentioned a family allergy this severe,” Dr. Heelis said, and he looked angry.